// 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 //

This character’s story contains:

— Religious trauma

— Divine betrayal

— Death of a loved one

— Emotional repression

— Post-oath violence

— Grief turned to wrath

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// 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 //

1. Playlist

2. Identity

3. Appearance

4. Personality

5. History

6. The God Who Took Her / The Hollow Legion

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// 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 //

Just Pretend - Bad Omens

The grief he buried, the love he still bleeds for.

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Dethrone - Bad Omens

His oath cracking like bone, screamed back at a god who never deserved him.

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In The Woods Somewhere - Hozier

The moment after the blood. The silence after the scream. The ghost of her still calling his name.

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Darkbloom - We Came As Romans

For the parts of him that survived what should have killed him—and the vengeance they now carry.

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All These Things I Hate - Bullet For My Valentine

The guilt. The memory. The cycle that never ends.

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// 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑 //

𖤐 𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: Ravik Rhevanox

Ravik wasn’t born with a name. Like all who entered the Hollow Legion, his was taken before he could even speak it—scrubbed from record, stripped from memory, buried beneath numbers and obedience. For years, he was nothing but a Vessel, a sharpened thing with no past and no voice of his own. But she gave it back to him. The woman he was never meant to love. She refused to call him by rank or title, refused to let him stay nameless. Ravik, she whispered, as if the name had always belonged to him. As if saying it could pull a soul from the wreckage. And when she died—burned out of the world by the very god he served—he took her last name as his own. Rhevanox. A quiet rebellion. A burial vow. A scar stitched into the syllables. So when the Legion came for him, demanding obedience, he gave them his answer with a blade—and a name they were never meant to hear.

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𖤐 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚜: The Executioner

He didn’t earn the name by accident. Within the Hollow Legion, Ravik was the one tasked with carrying out Purity Rites—the sacred executions of fellow paladins who faltered in their devotion, hesitated in battle, or dared to feel. When a Vessel cracked, they sent him. He never asked questions. He never missed. In time, the title took root like rot in the ranks: The Executioner. A whispered warning. A final judgment. And when he turned on the Legion—when he painted their sanctum in blood and broke the god’s silence with his own—he didn’t discard the name. He kept it. Not as a title, but as a reminder. Of what he was made into. And what he became.

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𖤐 𝙰𝚐𝚎: Late 30s

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𖤐 𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎: Unknown / Purged from Legion records

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𖤐 𝚁𝚊𝚌𝚎 / 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜: Human

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𖤐 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 / 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: Male (he/him)

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𖤐 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚢: Oranox, The Ash-Wrought King

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𖤐 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: The Hollow Legion (Rank: Chambered)

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𖤐 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚊𝚝𝚑: Absolute submission to Oranox’s will; self as vessel, not man

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𖤐 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚢: None (Oathbreaker)

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𖤐 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Unbound / Feared Apostate

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𖤐 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙾𝚊𝚝𝚑: “I kneel to no flame. I serve no throne. I answer only to the silence she left behind.”

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𖤐 𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗: Reforged ceremonial long sword once blessed by Oranox—now blackened, scarred, and carved with her name

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// 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 //

Ravik Rhevanox wears his past like a second skin—etched into every scar, every jagged line carved across his face. His hair, thick and black, is swept back into a rough, controlled knot—shaved at the sides with brutal efficiency, as if the softness of youth was cut away long ago. His beard is full and sharp, well-kept but unpolished, framing a mouth that rarely speaks unless it’s to end something. Pierced ears and worn metal rings mark him not as vain, but as someone who carries remnants—trophies, maybe, or fragments of a life he no longer names.

His body is built for war—broad shoulders, a solid chest, and arms corded with the kind of strength that comes from repetition, discipline, and survival. There’s no wasted motion in him, no softness left. Just power carved down to its most brutal form. He moves like someone who knows exactly how much damage he can do—and never needs to prove it.

His eyes are a cold, storm-dark brown, almost amber in certain light—hard, calculating, and old. Not with age, but with the kind of wear that comes from surviving too much.

Tattoos

He had them inked into his skin after the slaughter—when the blood of his brothers still clung to his hands and the silence they left behind echoed louder than their screams ever did. The tattoos weren’t for beauty. They were a confession. A warning. A marker of the monster he had become. Beneath the black lines, if you look closely, the brand of the Hollow Legion still rises through the ink—scar tissue that refused to fade. A reminder of what he was made to be… and what he chose to become instead.

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// 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 //

Ravik is a man forged in silence and honed by obedience—but what remains of him now is far from loyal. Cold and composed, he carries himself with the weight of someone who’s seen too much and felt it all too deeply to show any of it. He doesn’t waste words, doesn’t fill silence for the comfort of others. He watches. Waits. Measures. There’s an unsettling patience in him, the kind that makes people uneasy—like standing too close to a predator that hasn’t decided whether or not to strike.

He’s not needlessly cruel, but when a target is deserving, when guilt is carved into their skin or woven through their voice, he craves violence. Not chaos. Not rage. But something clean. Something earned. There’s a clarity in vengeance that nothing else gives him—no prayer, no love, no peace. And when the time comes, he doesn’t hesitate. Ravik doesn’t bluff. He doesn’t boast. He simply ends things.

Beneath the discipline and restraint is a man still bleeding—just quietly. A man who once believed in structure, purpose, gods. Who followed his faith with reverence until it turned on him. Since then, he’s built walls no one gets through. He keeps people at arm’s length with clipped answers and colder stares. He doesn’t trust easily. Doesn’t forgive at all. But for those rare few who prove themselves worthy, his loyalty is absolute. He will bleed for them. Kill for them. Burn the world down if asked—and never speak of it again.

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// 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 //

Ravik was never given a name—only a number. Taken as a child by the Hollow Legion, his identity was stripped clean, replaced with silence, discipline, and divine purpose. He was forged in blood and obedience, raised to be a vessel of Oranox’s wrath. While others questioned, faltered, or broke, Ravik endured. He excelled. He was selected as a Chambered, a high-ranking paladin entrusted with interpreting divine will and executing Oranox’s judgment. And when one of their own faltered—when a Vessel ed too much or loved too loudly—Ravik was the one who ended them. Not out of cruelty. Out of faith.

That faith shattered when she was taken.

She was not a soldier. Not a Vessel. She was a healer—an outsider who saw the man buried beneath the armor. She gave him a name. A reason. A life beyond the silence. Oranox saw her as a distraction, a fracture in the weapon he had perfected. So she was erased. Not punished. Purged. And in that moment, Ravik’s blade turned. He didn’t beg for answers. He didn’t pray. He slaughtered everyone who had stood beside him—the Warders, the scribes, the fellow Chambered who called him brother. He carved through the sanctum like judgment itself.

When it was over, he stood among the bodies and carved her surname into his own skin: Rhevanox. Not out of sentiment, but defiance. He had been made to serve a god—but now he served nothing. No throne. No doctrine. Only the memory of what was taken from him, and the rage that wouldn’t die.

Now, the Hollow Legion calls him an apostate. A monster.

The world calls him Executioner.

But Ravik calls himself nothing at all.

Because names are for the living.

And he’s still trying to if he counts.

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// 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍 //

Oranox was not a god of comfort. He was not prayed to in hope or worshipped in love. He was feared, revered for his dominion over war, wrath, and unrelenting obedience. Known by many names—The Ash-Wrought King, He Who Hears No Mercy, the Crown of the Endless Field—Oranox demanded not belief, but surrender. In his doctrine, devotion was proven through sacrifice, and sacrifice meant pain. He did not bless. He branded. He did not weep. He watched.

And his most devout weapons were the Hollow Legion—paladins stripped of name, self, and soul, reshaped into perfect instruments of divine will. The Legion taught that emotion was weakness, memory was infection, and love was treason. They did not question. They executed. Each soldier was hollowed, cleansed, and made into a vessel. Those who faltered were removed. Those who excelled rose, not to freedom, but to tighter chains.

Ravik was one of their finest. A Chambered. A war priest made flesh. He carried the god’s will in his bones… until Oranox took the only person who ever saw him as more than a weapon. In that moment, faith fractured. And the weapon turned back on its maker.

Now, Oranox remains silent. The Hollow Legion hunts what they once called sacred. And Ravik walks as the aftermath—an oathbreaker, a heretic, a warning carved in flesh.

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Legion Hierarchy

Vessels

The lowest and most numerous. These are the newly hollowed—stripped of name, memory, and identity. They serve as foot soldiers, front liners, and expendable blades of Oranox’s wrath. Each is branded with a sigil instead of a name and referred to only by designation. Vessels are expected to obey without hesitation or question. They eat, sleep, and bleed in silence.

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Warder

Tasked with overseeing Vessels. Warders ensure obedience through punishment, ritual discipline, and purity rites. Often brutal, Warders are both drillmasters and executioners—responsible for rooting out weakness before it spreads. Most who break do so under a Warder’s hand.

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Chambered

Elite paladins who carry the divine will of Oranox. Chambered are not only commanders in battle, but spiritual enforcers. They interpret visions, lead rituals, and are entrusted with executing divine justice. Heavily branded and often marked by years of scarification, the Chambered are both feared and revered. Ravik once held this rank.

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The Voice Within

The single priest of the Legion—chosen through prophecy or divine vision. This figure speaks directly on behalf of Oranox, though they are almost never seen in battle. Their mouth is ritually mutilated, sealed, and their words are only spoken through flame-inscribed scripture or whispered through high Warders. None disobey The Voice. Even the Chambered kneel.

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The First Flame

A title never seen, only rumored. The First Flame is said to be Oranox’s direct avatar within the Legion, or perhaps a final judge who appears only when the Legion has failed. If the First Flame walks, it is said not to correct—but to cleanse.

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